


Right In Front Of Steph's Salad

by grandebatbae



Series: Kaido's TimDami Week 2017 [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Asphyxiation, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Grinding, M/M, Oral Sex, Rimming, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Spit Kink, TimDami Week 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-02-09 16:57:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12892506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grandebatbae/pseuds/grandebatbae
Summary: Nothing like a little bit of competition between enemies-to-lovers, even if it is about who can place them in the most daring scenarios in the most...precarious positions.TimDami Week 2017 ◊ Day 1 ◊ Rivals





	Right In Front Of Steph's Salad

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go! Warnings for major NSFW. Find me (and the fic) on grandebatbae.tumblr.com
> 
> ◊RIVALS◊

Competition. The most basic human instinct born of fighting over food, over shelter, over leadership. Not over what  _their_  competition is all about. Not in the way they are going about it.

Some might say it is unhealthy, this competitiveness they have between them. Wild fun they are well deserving of. They have their safe word, they know one another's boundaries. But most of all, they understand the flame of rivalry burning within both of them will never be snuffed so long as they live.

So they make it fun to fuel the fire.

The first time on Monday Tim has Damian bent over the dining table. Alfred had gone down to the cave to bring Bruce breakfast, as he had stayed in front of the computer when they got home from patrol and not budged.

"Ha," Tim says in his ear, "I made the first move."

Damian grunts disapprovingly and tries to struggle from beneath his lover. He can already feel himself getting hard even though Tim hasn't done anything, just pinned Damian's chest right next to his breakfast.

But it's enough.

"-Tt, I would have got to you first if you had not been such a glutton. It has not even been several hours since our last escapade."

"That was literally last week," Tim responds, kissing the back of Damian's head, "Stay there."

Damian grumbles to himself, because technically, that is true. At around 11:50 during Sunday patrol Tim had taken Damian into one of the safe houses and fucked him quick, sending the teen back out when he was dazed and barely sated.

"Are you still mad?" Tim grins, pulling Damian's leggings and boxers over his ass slowly. He leans back to marvel at the two mounds of flesh. His favourite part of Damian, physically.

"Yes."

"Good," Tim chuckles, lips sliding down his spine, paying extra attention to the scars Tim tells him are beautiful, "I like you that way."

Damian keeps his mouth shut because he knows whatever response he has will only be choked on as Tim spreads his cheeks. He fidgets, waiting for that intimate rush only Tim can give him. The quaking of his hands is matched only by the thrum of his heart, because Alfred walks without sound. Though they will hear the kitchen door open first, who knows how far into the act they will be?

He feels Tim's breath on his twitching hole, ghosting over it. The coolness sends Damian's spiralling into a shiver. Somehow he can  _feel_ the smirk on Tim's face from the mere shape of that breath, unwilling to give Damian what he wants until the younger does it first.

Grunting with the effort Tim forces him into when he grabs Damian's leg, bringing his shoe up to his face, the younger whines, "Can't we do it after?"

"Be patient," Tim tells him as he fetches the small slip of paper wedged between sock and shoe, "I know what you're like, Dami."

Damian only tsks in response, continuing to squirm as Tim places the paper by his head. He plucks a pen from his pocket and puts it there, allowing Damian up enough to bring his arm out and write  _Tim_  on the line next to the number 1.

_Their score card._

List from 1-11, the first to six wins.

"I hate you," Damian says as Tim take the items and puts them back where they belong, "You do this ever ti- Nyah!"

Again, he can  _feel_  the smirk. Feel it, as Tim laps at his aching entrance with the fervour of a cat with a kitten, something Tim calls Damian to catch him off guard and gain another win.

"Drake!" He hisses, pressing up off of the pretty silk table cloth, scrunching it up in his hands as Tim creates deep crescent marks in Damian's ass cheeks, pulling him apart so hard that the pain almost overcomes the pleasure- but Tim  _knows_  his limits.

Having already gained the win, he doesn't waste any time. The obvious suckling noises filling the grandeur dining room are enough, but the feeling of urgency implies it even more; Tim is actually going to get him there this time.

Sometimes the denial is a part of the competition. Damian  _hates_  it. Luckily, as Tim reaches as far into his lover as he can, causing Damian to reach back and sink his nails into the hand on his right cheek, torture is not on today's agenda.

The faint sound of the secret elevator opening in the distance only brings the edge closer.

"Drake.. Drake it's- I- Please, do not stop," he whispers with enough mind to wipe the drool from his mouth before it spills out onto the table. Everything is on fire; his ass, his skin, his throat, his senses, his quaking, desperate cock and desperation to pleasure Tim right after his own is done.

Tim moans and reaches through the space between his mouth and Damian's pants. He gets his hand on the younger's tight sack first, giving it a squeeze that makes Damian slam his hand into the plate, knocking the cutlery around and getting bacon grease on his poor vegetarian fingers.

With two firm pumps of his cock the coil in his belly snaps with euphoria. Tim lurches forward and wraps his hand around his mouth, stunting Damian's screaming of ecstasy and wrenching him backwards.

The act is so abrupt and violent that it makes Damian's orgasm all the more sudden, his mind running blank for a moment before the overwhelming thirst for Tim overtakes everything.

He's on the floor, on his back, between the table and Tim's legs.

"Master Tim. Where has Master Damian got to?" Alfred asks. 

Damian scrambles forward, further under the table and practically attacks the front of Tim's pants, getting grease all over them. The other does not flinch once, answering with a calm response Damian does not care to hear.

Tim won. He won, it's fine, because right now all Damian wants is to taste him. He hears the soft chuckle Tim gives when he rips his fly open. They both know he'll have to change his pants before they leave for work (assuming nothing else happens between now and then).

They laugh fizzles into a moan when Damian drops his jaw as low as possible and impales his throat on Tim's hard, thick, throbbing piece, already so close to exploding from using Damian's body.

"Slow down baby," Tim coos, but Damian doesn't have the mind for it. His rival won, fair and square, he deserves the spoils.

_But Damian will triumph next time._

◊

 

“Little fucking brat.”

Damian is probably smirking, honestly, but at Tim’s angle he can’t see. He can feel the twitch of lips around his cock of course, but seeing and feeling are two different things.

The snotty little devil refuses to give Tim the satisfaction of being undignified like this. He rather enjoys being pinned to the conference room table on his back with his head hanging off the edge. Every time Tim thrusts forward his balls press into Damian's nostrils.

"Should stay like this," Tim remarks, "Watch your chest try to heave with my cock down your throat."

Damian whines, loves it, loves the nastiness of competition even though Tim's hand is holding his for any indication of their safety signal.

He gives none, instead nuzzling the heavy balls with his nose and rubbing his tongue flat against his length. Only his neck hurts from the angle, the rest of his body spread out naked over the table.

Tim is currently winning. After their dining room adventure they had left for work, bidding a tired Bruce goodnight as he trudged up the stairs for sleep, ordered by Alfred.

Damian had been tricked into thinking his father had come to the office at lunch time. He barged through the man's door with the rage of a thousand hells to demand his overworked parent go home, only to have the door shut behind his back and locked by Tim.

After Damian signed off agreeing Tim had taken the second win, he rode him in his father's chair and come angrier than he had ever been.

With no other chances for Monday (they had limited themselves to two times a day, after the first week of competition had seen them almost sickly dry by Wednesday) Damian had to wait. 

He woke up before Tim in their bed and left for the office before the other could make it down the stairs. He had hacked to the best of his ability, only barely overcoming Tim's skills, and changed the day's meeting time to half an hour earlier.

When Tim entered the conference room Damian was sitting naked in the head chair. 

The conference room was a risk- one of its walls is made entirely of glass. Anyone walking to the storage room nearby would see one heir balls deep down the throat of the other heir on the table they meet at.

Angered Damian had chosen such on awful place with such a small time bracket, Tim had decided to make it a little rough on him. Of course, that is exactly what Damian was hoping for.

He finally steps back and Damian gasps in air, still wearing a smirk despite the debauched look in his face. Ropes and ropes of saliva are cast between his mouth and Tim's dick. They sling down onto Damian's face and Tim stares at the mesmerising image it makes.

"Let me take a picture of that," he begs, eyes wild, staring at Damian in such a lewd state.

The younger snorts, "No. We have twelve minutes left, fifteen at best. You know how early Luscious likes to be to these meetings. You better hurry up and fuck me, Drake."

As he talks, the strings of spit break one by one, slopping down onto Damian's face to the point that Tim moans, bends over and kisses him upside-down. They'll have to do this again, Tim will have to choke him to the point that Damian produces this much. Then he'll have his picture.

A battle of tongues still isn't enough to distract him from the concept of fucking him. Tim backs off so Damian can rotate so his legs are hanging off instead of his head. Tim wipes some of the saliva from his lover's face, ignoring Damian's protest of  _I have lube!_ and uses it to open him up.

"We are equal now," he moans.

"Equal?" Tim scoffs, "Already thinking you'll win again today baby boy?"

"-Tt, I  _know_  I will."

Tim responds by finally pushing his cock into him, looping his arms around Damian's waist and half-lifting him as he starts to thrusts.

"Got plans, hmm?" Tim whispers against his lips, wondering how Damian is going to get rid of the drying sheen of spit on his face.

"Of course."

They kiss, like a fight, full of passion and gusto and Damian realises at some point that Tim is far,  _far_  closer than he is to coming. He should have been the one getting choked on, not the other way around.

Tim pets his back as they move in synch, whispers what a little brat he is and how much he loves the way Damian makes his blood boil. Damian keeps tugging at those annoyingly long strands of hair, the other hand gripping full palms of muscle on Tim's upper arm.

With only a few minutes left and stuck in their position for fear of losing momentum should they move, Damian starts to jerk himself off, encouragement whispered in his ear from his lover. 

"Next time I'm taking all the pictures I want." 

Not the words Damian was expecting, but he loves the promise, and the cockiness. He can not  _wait_  to take that away from Tim later.

"Next time I'll make sure you don't have the mind to grab your phone."

Their mouths clash, they kiss until the taste blood, until they are both exploding- Tim, flooding his lover as Damian mewls at the feeling, spilling up all over their chests.

Luscious arrives exactly a minute later when they are dressed and seated but not looking at all put together. 

The man to their knowledge has a similar intuition to Alfred's. Both boys hope, prey, that he does not catch on or make any comment.

He merely greets them and takes a seat.

As Tim discusses the stock of the company to a room of about seven people, his eyes can not help but draw to Damian, seated to his left, chair angled so that only Tim can see him.

He's just tapping his mouth with his fingers at first. Then, next time they meet eyes his jaw has lowered a little the tapping knocking his lip lower and lower. Tim catches on pretty quickly and decides not to look back there.

At the very end of the meeting when he meets Damian's gaze again, the younger looks infuriated by the eyes, but it's his mouth which has Tim losing for the second time that day. Plump lips wrapped around his own fingers, back and forth, back and forth.

"Meeting adjourned," Tim coughs. Dammit, they really are equal.

 

◊

 

They both get to three by Thursday. 

Due to a particularly grilling patrol, Wednesday ends up quite uneventful. Neither wins anything, they simply wake up at some point during the day, rut against each other until they're finished, then cuddle and go back to sleep.

So on Thursday they are equally as hungry for another win. Both on two, both pent up, but Damian gains his win first. 

Dick is asleep at the Batcomputer when the youngest bird descends the stairs of the cave. Tim is training in the background, the mats looking beat up as he stretches with his back to Damian.

Sweat glistens up his arms and in a patch on his white shirt. Damian licks his lips, wondering what he can do to get in first. He thinks of merely dropping to his knees in front of him so the next time he turns around, Tim will find him there, but Tim might lift him up and take him even  _closer_  to the risk- Their older brother, sleeping.

So the next time Tim turns around with his staff poised, Damian launches himself off the mat and knocks the attack aside with his foot. He's sailing right down on to Tim, who looks up with a mix of shock and annoyance.

Damian lands straddling his waist with Tim on his back.

"I win," he says, taking the slip out with four scribbled signatures on it.

Tim glares, hands sliding up thick thighs, glancing at Dick still asleep on the other side of the cave, "For now."

Damian rides him there with not a lot of preparation. It isn't easy and it hurts, but he does it for the thrill of all the sounds he wants to make, because he can't, unable to when he could wake up their oblivious siblings with a moan too loud. That's the kind of torture he likes; the risky.

Tim flips them, thrusts into him and all they can do is whisper their desperation until they both reach their climax biting into one another, only just parting when they hear Dick stir. Damian berates Tim because his groan had echoed and made the cave bats squeak.

Later that night, in a move that could easily take the win if the competition was about the level of risk, Tim completely flaws Damian and everything he ever thought of him.

The worst thing is how enthusiastic he finds himself when Tim pulls him in real close and grapples up to a platform hanging from the ceiling. He lays the teen there, hanging over a number of thugs lying unconscious on the warehouse floor.

"Drake," he begins in a whisper, looking almost afraid. Tim freezes at the look, waiting for their safeword, waiting to know if he had finally gone to far. It's not like they were fucking in the middle of the pile- just in proximity.

When Damian gives a reserved nod, relief floods him.

"We don't have to go far," he promises, leaning down and pressing his face into Damian's neck. He pulls his pants down, getting the cup out of the way. He moves his own and in the dark of the night Robin and Red Robin cross a line together their father would be ashamed to know.

Damian has never been more thrilled by such a noble rival.

 

◊

 

Friday afternoon sees them fooling around in the kitchen. They're waiting for the risk, the opportunity to hold another win over the other.

"We don't even have a prize," Tim remarks, watching his coffee fill the cup as Damian prepares their lunch. "Do you ever wonder why we do it?"

Damian scoffs, "Are you forfeiting, Drake?"

Tim turns with a smile, admires Damian's ass in the leggings he wears on these types of days, to the little hunch in his shoulders as he cooks. He loves cooking because it was something Alfred had done with him to normalise his childhood. It's something Tim is always willing to let him do alone.  _Beat him at._

He saunters up behind him and wraps his arms around his own sweater on Damian's body.

 _"Never,"_ he whispers in his ear, flicking the lobe with his tongue. Unwilling to let Tim take such an easy victory, Damian reaches down and goes straight for the prize, grabbing a fist full of Tim's crotch.

"Don't get cocky,  _Tim,"_ he remarks. Use of the other's first name is always a kick starter. And as usual they are both already affected.

Damian slips his pants down slowly. Tim leans back, watches with a smile as he unzips his own pants, "You have the most perfect ass in the world."

He gives it a little slap and snorts that it 'jiggles'. If they weren't competing Damian might have flown into some sort of indignant rage. 

Tim reaches over head and grabs the olive oil. Alfred would be mortified to know what they have used it for twice now, if he does not already. 

Though Tim is tempted to torture his lover, he doesn't, instead getting it done fast. The kitchen is dangerous territory because there is no preemptive warning. The only loud door nearby is the actual kitchen door. 

Anyone with half a brain would know Tim is literally fucking Damian upright, from behind, against the counter.

When he pushes into him Damian whimpers, dropping the knife to the chopping board, and it makes Tim's heart ache. Perhaps it is too soon. He hugs him tightly from behind, whispers that he loves him into his hair.

That's when the competitiveness dissolves and the real love comes in.

At least, it's about to, until the kitchen door swings open and Stephanie waltzes in with a hearty, "Afternoon boys!"

Tim and Damian completely freeze, watching as she walks to the fridge on the other side of the counter and opens it up.

"You guys recover okay from patrol the other night? That was a mess!" She exclaims, gesturing wildly with her arms. She leans down, disappearing for a moment behind the fridge door. Tim tries to scurry back but the movement causes Damian to yelp.

Steph doesn't seem to notice. Without any other option Tim steps forward and Damian curls forward slightly as a reaction as Tim goes deep, bowing his head to avoid putting his debauched expression on display.

The older wraps his arms around him to make it seem like they're hugging. Steph smiles at the action warmly as she flips the lid off of the quinoa salad Alfred is fond of making her.

Their last rule about their rivalry? If they get caught, they both lose.

"So I was shopping with Cass the other day," she begins, starting to move around the counter. Tim thinks quick and opens the draw, taking out a fork and handing it to her before she can make her way around. "Thanks!" She goes back to her salad, "Anyway, I was shopping with Cass when I could see this bright ligh flashing out of the corner of my eye...."

Stephanie continues on with a wild story about the paparazzi following Cass in a department store. Tim feigns listening, when really he is trying to keep as still as possible, trying to figure out a way to pull out, pull his and Damian's pants back up and separate without Steph realising what they were doing.

 _Impossible._ They will have to wait it out.

But the more Damian squirms, holding the knife in his quaking hand and pulsing around Tim's length, the more they realise they can not wait it out. Damian was not prepped enough.

Either way, their fate comes in less than a minute.

She is animating the move she used on the paparazzi stalker, "I cut my arm when I punched his flash! See?" Stephanie leans over the table to shove her knuckle in Tim's face, bypassing Damian who is clearly not listening.

"I see," Tim says quickly, trying to get her to lean back.

"Look closer though! This will be my first scar- It'll always remind Cass and I that-"

_"Oh."_

Tim leans forward too far and realises too late. He feels his cock slide further into Damian and he knows from experience that the other's prostate is right at his head.

Stephanie is frozen having ben interrupted by Damian's moan. Her eyes dart from Tim's face, to the other boy's, to her own stretched out fist, to the line where Damian's stomach and the countertop meet, then down to her salad.

"You-" She begins, choking on her words, stumbling backwards. Her gaze lands back on Tim, "I am literally eating salad," she throws her arm in a gesture towards the container. Tim hurries back, pulling out of Damian and bending down to get his pants on. Damian pulls his up with Tim's help. "You were...You were literally..." Dazed by the coincidence of ending upin the very meme she had been using with Jason yeterday to confuse Bruce.

"Steph-"

"You're literally doing it  _right in front of my salad._ Tim- Tim,  _Damian._ Oh my God."

Her eyes finally blow up wide before she turns and runs out of the kitchen, by Tim's guess, to tell Jason.

"We both lost," Damian remarks, sounding exhausted as he slide to the floor. Tim can't help but laugh.

They may be rivals, but he'd rather win, or lose, with him.

 

 


End file.
